The Demons You Create
by Taylor McDaniel
Summary: After waking up in a mysterious place, Mark finds himself in a spot of trouble.


Mark ran. He wasn't sure how long he'd been running, but he kept going. He'd run as long as he needed to, as far as he needed to. He had to get away from that _thing. _He kept his pace as best he could, moving as fast as he could but doing his best not to tire himself out.

In truth, he had no idea where he was or how he got here. It was like somethig out of a horror movie. Mark thought he was propbaly in some old building, but there were no windows. Surely he'd be able to hear cars, right? But there was only an eerie silence surrounding him. _What is this place?, _he thought to himself, slowing his pace in attempt to take in his surroundings. The walls in this place were grimy, and it smelled of death, like roadkill. _How the hell did I even get here? And where is __**here**__?_

He picked up the pace once more, turning a corner just ahead of him. Loud clomping footsteps echoed from behind him. Whatever it was wasn't moving to fast. _I think I have a chance here, I just have to find an exit. _As he ran, he scanned the walls for doors or windows, even stairs, anything to get him out of this nightmare.

His heart raced. The steps seemed to be getting closer, but how? Whatever it was sounded to be bipedal, possibly human. He glaced behind him but nothing was there. He affixed his gaze forward, digging his heels into the ground as best he could to halt himself before he slammed into the wall before him. A dead end. _Fuck, _he thought, frantically running his hands over the surface of it, looking for some hidden button, handle, anything. He felt like a rat trapped in a cage.

_I'm panicking, don't panic._ He took a deep breath, and shook his nervousness out through his fingertips. He looked around, the footsteps growing louder the longer he stood here. He had two options: either turn back the way he came and try to find a way around whatever was coming after him, or face it. He chose the latter. There was no way he could make it to the end of the hall and around the creature before it got to him, and who knows what would happen then. At least this way he could find out what this thing was and if he could reason with it, them, whatever.

The steps were close, about to turn the corner. "Hello?" Mark called out to it. "Who's there?" The steps stopped, fading into the silence. No response. He made another attempt. "Is someone there? I need help. I don't know how I got here or where this even is. Can you help me?"

Silence.

Mark's chest heaved, as hard as he tried to be brave, face this thing, he feared he made a grave mistake. He took a step backwards toward the wall in an attempt to brace himself, but something, _someone _was behind him. He gasped, spinning around to face the man. "Damien?"

"I haven't heard that name in...," Dark paused, "Well, a very long time." Mark laughed. Dark's slight smile faded at the sound. "What's there to laugh at?"

"It's good to see you, old friend," Mark said, still laughing.

Dark grimaced. "I think you misunderstand your situation. You say you don't know where you are. Are you sure you've never been here before?" With that, a cruel smile began to spread across his face.

Mark's laughter faded. He looked around, taking in the silence, the dirtiness. "Wait, you..."

"Yes, _old friend,_" Dark replied, mockingly. "We thought this would be... fitting."

Mark's head began to spin, the silence was becoming maddening. His surroundings started to swirl around him, like he'd had one too many shots while out drinking with friends. It made him sick, chunks rising in his throat. He fell to his knees. "This can't be."

"Oh, but it is! After your little soiree, the house disappeared. Everyone thought it burned down, but no, it sank." Dark walked around Mark, hands behind his back. "You could assume who chose the location."

It started to make sense, the silence, the smell. This house, this place, was where it all began. Where everyone he had loved died, where he _killed them._ "That's why it's so quiet."

"Yes," Dark replied, sounding like he was becoming tired of this exchange, like it was tedious for him. "As you can clearly see, this place has changed. We don't know why, but we assume to keep whatever magic consealed inside until it chooses to rise again." Dark stopped pacing around Mark. He halted himself before him, turning on his heel to face Mark. Mark looked up to meet Dark's eyes. "We had a few plans for you, of course. Tourture, to start, then we might leave you here." Dark paused. "Hmm, that seems to be the only plan. Oh, well. Fine by us."

"Us?" Mark asked weakly, trying to push the chunks back down in his throat.

Dark looked at him, perplexed. "You're saying you don't know?" He began his pacing again. "Truly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark coughed out.

Dark let out a sinister laugh. "That's... interesting, I suppose." He pushed fingers through his hair and stopped in front of Mark once more, adjusting his tie. "You had no idea what this house could really do when you stole my body, did you? You didn't know what other evils hid here?"

Mark met Dark's eyes as he leaned down right in his face. "I suppose you'll tell me."

Dark scoffed, standing himself upright. "You always were short-sighted." He took a few steps away from Mark, facing down the corridor. "You idiot man-child. You damned every person who ever cared about you to life eternal with no hope of escape. You, the so-called 'hero'. We've waited long enough for our revenge."

"Is that a royal 'we', then?" Mark said, laughing lightly.

Dark's hand was swift, snatching up Mark by the collar of his shirt. "You killed her." He lifted Mark up above his head with one hand, then his anger faded and he began to laugh maniacally. "She sleeps within us now, waiting." He made eye contact with Mark, bringing him in closer. "You better hope we kill you before she wakes up again."


End file.
